Two Famous Stiffs

I remember an old friend from High School telling me that he had seen a dead body while he was living in Yemen. He asked me at the time if I had ever seen a dead body before.

It happens that I have seen two in my life. Two dead bodies that belonged to two famous revolutionaries.

March 2006:

I’m with my tour group and the tour guide, David Eales in the centre of Ba Dinh Square. It was here that Ho Chi Minh, then leader of the Vietminh, read the Proclamation of Independence of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam on September 2, 1945 believing  it to be the opportunity for Vietnam to declare independence from France. This officially led to the creation of North Vietnam at the end of World War II.

The mausoleum of Ho Chi Minh atop Ba Dinh Square (c) Original image taken by Taylor Driver

The rules are strict. No digital cameras or camcorders are allowed in the mausoleum. Same with food and drink. Visitors have to form two straight lines and observe a dress code. No shorts or miniskirts are allowed and arms must be kept straight with hands out of one’s pockets.

The lines shamble along, doing with their eyes what cameras and video cameras would have done in an instant. A military honour guard stands watch over the glass case, dimly illuminated by white lights. From nine in the morning to midday, the embalmed body is available for viewing to the public. The rest of the time, the mausoleum is closed in order to maintain the preservation of the former leader’s body.

It’s a macabre sight at the best of times. What makes it worse is that Ho Chi Minh didn’t want it to happen. According to historians, he wanted to be cremated, his ashes spread across the north, south and centre of the country. A grand mausoleum was considered a waste of arable land to him.

The mausoleum is inspired by Lenin’s own resting place in Moscow’s Red Square. Unbeknownst to me, I will have the opportunity to see him as well in the near future.

My tour group at the Memorial. I am at the far right, second row.

March 2007:

The air of March is perfectly tolerable for the average Russian. For a group of students who just came from Cairo, it feels good to be bundled up. Our guide Michael takes us to Red Square where the tomb of Vladimir Ilyich Lenin  continues to draw tourists and remnants of the Communist Party in Russia.

Lenin’s Mausoleum is a sort of pilgrimage site for members of Russia’s Communist Party

Just like Ho Chi Minh’s tomb, it is forbidden to take photos or record the moment on video. Everyone marches in single file around the glass case where the revolutionary lies to this day. He lies on his back with his black suit still on him. Despite all the rumours that his corpse was replaced by a wax dummy, I still dread the moment where his eyes open. I’ve got one foot in a reverie and another on the floor of a darkened room where the same man who created the Soviet Union has been lying in state ever since he died, years before anyone in the room was born. But I can’t stay in my head for too long with the guards ushering us out of the building.

The daylight brings us back to the world of the living once more.

It’s been about five to six years since I last saw them. But one thing is for sure. I can say with certainty that I’ve seen a dead body in real life. And not just anyone’s body.

As far as bragging rights go, I’m not sure how to feel.

Hitting the Jackpot: My First internship

I secured my first work placement ever during my second year of University quite by accident. As a non-UK national studying in the UK, my campus in Farnham had an International Students Advisor specifically to deal with non-British students like myself. During our conversation that day, it emerged that her brother was working for euronews, the pan-European TV and online news channel that was based in Lyon, where my parents had settled during my first year of University. Faced with the prospect of unpaid work experience at a local radio or TV station reporting about a charity’s latest project, the opportunity was too good to miss. With his contact details at hand, she urged me to contact him. Within 10 days of sending my first email, I had a response.

In order to take a work placement in France, a document known as a convention de stage (work placement agreement) is required of all prospective interns. Finding out just what it was proved easy, with the help of my parents and some independent research. Obtaining the appropriate document was another story altogether. That took a bit more research into finding the appropriate representative for my University to sign the document. I found a sample convention de stage in both English and French from the University of Warwick’s website but my University had no similar copy.

It was therefore up to the Head of Student Administration to change the letterhead of the agreement and replace the University of Warwick with the University for the Creative Arts. The wait was agonising even without my parents continued pressure to get the task over and done with as quickly as possible saying that my time was running out. But at last, I found my documents completed and forwarded to the Human Resources Manager in Lyon.

The internship itself started later and ended sooner than I anticipated. Although I was told that my credentials were acceptable in April, it wasn’t until August that I began to work. The first day was pleasant enough at first, meeting the members of the English news team as well as members of other language teams. From there, I was shown how my news bulletin would be recorded in a small booth the size of a British telephone booth with a small screen and voice recorder. It was a nerve-wracking experience, trying to write a script for my news bulletin and thinking that somehow my frightened inexperienced voice would be heard by someone else in a sitting room far away.

To my surprise (and relief), I was given more of an explanation as to how the internship would work. For two weeks, I was to shadow the members of the team, taking note of how they proceeded and what sort of equipment was used. I could even take a shot at recording a news bulletin or two, but my voice would not be broadcast due to French laws protecting interns from unpaid work. I wouldn’t be the dogsbody, making photocopies or cups of tea for senior staff.  It was purely a learning experience. Even the articles I wrote for the website would not have a by-line. But I learned not to care, as long as I could add in my CV that I really had done practical work.

With time running low and so many things to explain to my peers at University, I fortunately had the presence of mind to put together a video diary of my experience. As far as filming goes, I admit that it is not the work of a professional but I hope that the thousand pictures that unfold before your eyes will tell you more than the thousand words I may write here.